Weak (for the) He(te)ro (in) Class 1

9 - (putting away) Childish Things.

There was an expression used, its origin long forgotten, either through the lack of people who knew what it meant in the first place or the seemingly pointless definition that came with it. It was age-old but newly-coined—it transcended trivial boundaries such as language and country. Perhaps it was used even by highly advanced alien societies that lived in another galaxy.

This expression was a perfect summary of the scene that was about to play out, dear reader of mine. The phrase in question—I'll let you know when it's used—and as for the scene itself, well, it went something like this.

—

"Yeon Sieun, when will you stop ignoring my presence and talk to me? It's been 12 days," droned An Suho, who was skillfully mastering the art of walking backwards while simultaneously holding a more-or-less one-sided conversation with the aforementioned Yeon Sieun, who was showing no signs of stopping, so that Suho could turn around or at least catch his breath. Sieun was intrigued and surprised that Suho had been counting the days.

For someone who was only walking, Yeon Sieun kept quite the pace—the same could barely be said for An Suho. Any moment now, he was surely going to bump into someone.

Maybe because it was An Suho who was relentlessly running after him every minute of every hour throughout the school day, that Yeon Sieun couldn't help but speed up, hoping that Suho would tire out and stop following him. Had they been in multiple lessons together, Sieun was positive Suho wouldn't have paid attention to a single one of their teachers, instead poking at him with his stationery if they sat next to each other or throwing inconspicuous notes at him whenever the coast was clear.

'Why are you avoiding me?' Because I have nothing more to say to you. 'What does that mean?' Figure it out yourself.

Sieun would then tune him out, rejecting all his advances and focusing on his work as best as he could, only managing to re-read the same sentence twice and write half a paragraph's worth of notes despite having an hour's worth of learning. Yeon Sieun was glad that this had not happened.

Pulled from hypotheses playing out in his head, Sieun looked up to (still) find An Suho standing in front of him, not having turned around yet. Sieun exhaled through his nose and gave him a look. The look. A look that—to anyone else—would have gone unnoticed. Partly because Sieun's face doesn't change when he gives someone 'the look'; it's the glint in his eyes that does. A spark, a flicker—the glint most people do a double-take at because they weren't sure of what they had just seen. The glint that fills you up with the smallest bit of hope as you sit there on a sodden log, drenched to the bone in a flimsy 'pack-it jacket' that offers not a single shred of warmth or protection against the elements, but you wore it anyway.

The glint that comes before the spark that finally flickers into a fire, after almost losing your fingers to frostbite, not sure if you were putting enough strength into striking the flint, feeling your arse get colder and colder to the point of numbness, as it brightened up your abysmal darkness and radiated a heat so fierce you'd think you were inside a well-furnaced home. Naturally, Yeon Sieun wasn't aware his eyes were doing that; contrary-wise, he thought his look did the opposite. All the times he's ever had to use this infamous look, misunderstandings seemed to clear themselves up almost immediately, and he never knew why—Sieun just assumed it was because of the power his all-menacing look had.